Sherlolly Smorgasbord
by GoldenVine
Summary: A collection of prompt fills, one-shots, drabbles etc. Basically a big vat of Sherlolly goodness. All genre's - one pairing. (Also featuring, quite frequently, the one and only Oliver Holmes)
1. Accidental Discovery

**A/N - Here we go, a cute little shot to start us off. This was given as a prompt over on tumblr by veiledinthorns - parentlock! sherlolly lovechild accidently walking in on sherlock and molly. kid has questions. sherlock and molly do their best to answer. **

**A warning in advance - I don't always remember who gave me the prompts or what the prompts actually were so if a prompt doesn't have an owner and you know who it is then feel free to tell me - although there is no reward other than your own satisfaction, sorry. Anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer - Don't own it but I do own Oliver. *cries***

Oliver Holmes had woken up early this morning, at 6:30 instead of his usual 7:30, and had decided to take it upon himself to make Mummy and Daddy breakfast.

He padded into the kitchen being careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards on the way down the stairs and hauled his booster seat over to the kitchen counter top. He jumped up on to the bunker and unpacked three slices of bread – one for Daddy, one for Mummy and one for himself. He leaned over and flicked the toaster on carefully putting the first two slices of bread in and pushing down the button.

He was just making his way to the fridge for butter when there was a loud bang from his parent's room. Oliver flinched and looked towards their bedroom door. Maybe Daddy had fallen out of bed again? He did that very often which was why he was always covered in those funny red marks in the morning – Oliver hoped he never fell out of bed like Daddy.

Curiosity peaked Oliver slowly crept over to his parent's bedroom and eased open the door. What he saw inside was very confusing.

Daddy was still in bed because the covers were on, but Mummy and Daddy were both awake. Daddy was on top of Mummy and she was giggling and kissing him in that soppy way that made Oliver feel slightly sick. The covers were going up and down and Oliver wondered if they were perhaps playing some kind of game. How unfair! Playing a game without him! He loved playing games.

"What are you doing?" asked the little boy.

Molly shrieked and Sherlock immediately dropped to her side pulling the covers up to his chin. Well, your child walking in on you was certainly a mood killer. Oliver looked at them in utter confusion, seriously, adults were so weird! Mummy and Daddy's faces were bright red and Daddy was sweating. They looked at each other in shock each silently pleading with the other to explain.

"Uhm, hi honey!" said Molly brightly, "Why are you up so early?"

"I just woke up early" shrugged Oliver playing with the door handle.

"Well, do you want to go back to bed?" Molly suggested gently.

"Nope" said Oliver popping the 'p'.

The room was silent save for the nervous rustling of sheets and the shuffling of socked feet.

"So, what were you doing?" Oliver asked again, "Were you playing a game."

"Uhm yes, a game" floundered Molly looking to her husband for back-up. When none was given she quickly nipped his thigh under the sheets making him yelp into action.

"I-I was testing your Mother's tickle-y-ness" said Sherlock not sounding at all confident in his excuse.

"Oh is that why she was giggling?" Oliver said looking up at his father with big innocent eyes.

"Precisely" agreed Sherlock nodding his head at the small boy.

It was then that Molly sniffed the air, furrowing her brows at the smell, "Do you smell burning?"

Oliver's mouth formed the perfect 'o' as realisation dawned on him. He smiled nervously up at his parents.

"Oliver," said Molly sternly, "What did you do?"

"I made breakfast!" Oliver admitted cheerfully with a grin that would get him out of trouble for years to come.

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	2. Toilet Time

**A/N - I have no idea who prompted this drabble but enjoy! And a big thank you to Rocking the Redhead, Nicolive and thedragonaunt whose reviews are much appreciated and to all those who followed and favourite'd!**

"Again?," Sherlock groaned, "you've had to pee three times today and its only half eleven."

"I know I know but the baby is pressing on my bladder which means I need to pee" Molly said as she all but ran to the toilet.

Sherlock flopped onto the sofa and sighed. He was both looking forward to his child coming into the world and dreading it. If the baby was anything like him then it would need constant stimulation and would have to be entertained from an early age. Oh, but he hoped it would have Molly's demeanour and her cute button nose. However, one thing was for sure – his child will be intelligent. Not just intelligent but a proper genius. With his and Molly's combined DNA the child should be accepted into Mensa at the age of 4 and be out solving crimes with his father at 7.

Sherlock huffed again and looked at the clock. Molly had been in the toilet for 23 minutes and 7 seconds. Surely it doesn't take that long to pee?

Sherlock hauled himself up from the sofa and knocked gently on the bathroom door, "Molly, are you ok?"

"No" came the short response.

Sherlock jostled the door handle in panic but it was locked, "What? What is it Molly tell me?"

"I think…I think I'm in labour."

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	3. Duck!

**A/N - Don't know who prompted but enjoy! And a big thank you to all that read, review, favourite and alert. You are all scrumptious little cupcakes on the bakery shelf of life.**

**Disclaimer - I still don't own it.**

Sherlock ducked as a remote control was fired at his head, "Molly that is hardly the way to greet a guest."

Molly sighed with relief and glared angrily at the consulting detective, "I thought you were a burglar."

"And a remote control was going to stop me?"

"No," Molly said pointedly getting up from her chair and sizing up to the detective, "the remote would have distracted you and I would have legged it out the fire escape or grabbed one of my big stainless steel knives from the kitchen."

Sherlock looked at the small pathologist in amusement. She really was the oddest of people but he liked odd and he liked Molly. Even if he wouldn't admit that to anyone. She was his pathologist and sooner or later he would tell her. If only he could find the right words. Urgh sentiment, he cursed. He really was illiterate when it came to feelings.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm yes?"

"You're staring" stated Molly looking up into his glacial eyes.

"No I'm not" he replied meekly.

"Yes you were!" Molly swatted his arm mockingly and moved to get her coat and shoes.

"What are you doing?" asked Sherlock.

"Getting my things. You said you needed help on a case, right?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, "Uh yes. Yes, I do. John is out on a date and you are mildly intelligent."

"Right well thanks, I guess" muttered Molly as she wound her scarf around her neck.

Sherlock strode quickly out of Molly's flat and onto the street where the cool air helped to calm his racing mind. The more he thought of Molly the more confused he became. She was a puzzle to him. A puzzle he was sure he would never solve.

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	4. Feigning Indifference

**A/N - This was for the lovely iamazonian over on tumblr. I like it very much. A/U arranged marriage so if that's your cup of tea enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer - I don't own it. I just have fun with it.**

Molly Holmes, nee Hooper, was sitting with her now husband Sherlock at dinner. It wasn't a conventional marriage and Molly was not about to pretend it was. The truth was that she barely knew Sherlock. Their families were clinging to the Victorian era and an arranged marriage had always been on the cards for Molly. She had hoped she would be paired with someone kind and open hearted. They didn't need to be particularly good looking, Molly had always believed it was what was inside that counted. Unfortunately, she got exactly the opposite.

Her husband was cold, heartless and rude but he was bloody gorgeous. The man was like the sourest lemon wrapped up in the nicest icing. Really he was Molly's kryptonite. The man may be an arse but Molly had fallen hopelessly in love with him and she hated herself for it. Every time she was around him she would trip herself up and say the wrong things. She was a published doctor for goodness sake not a stupid infatuated schoolgirl.

"Molly."

Oh, even the way he said her name, like it was something dirty, made her shiver.

"Molly."

Oh he was actually saying her name, "Y-yes?" she squeaked.

"We have guests coming around later for supper. Why?" Sherlock asked bluntly. He had not asked for a wife and he had certainly not asked for a wife that actually piqued his interest. Molly Holmes was an anomaly and he hated to admit how much he wanted her. The quiet demeanour, the cute turned up nose and her long auburn locks were all extremely appealing to him. She also had a fierce intelligence that could almost rival his own (he had read all her published papers as research, of course.) Still it was best to feign indifference to her obvious lust for him and remain married to his work, sentiment was a defect found in the losing side after all, even if he was quite literally married to this woman.

"I thought it would be fun to have a c-couple of friends around" she replied meekly setting her fork down.

Sherlock guffawed and set his own cutlery down, "Fun?"

"Yeah, you know. I haven't seen some of them in ages."

"I have an experiment I could be working on."

"You c-could take it upstairs? I-I'll help you set it up" she said quickly, taking her dishes to the sink.

Sherlock regarded her for a moment. She was moving quickly, obviously nervous, but not about the company. They were her friends and she enjoyed interacting with them so why should she be? Something else then. She offered to help him readily which was odd. She always helped him but usually just gathering body parts for him from the morgue never actually helping him with his various experiments.

"You don't want me there" he announced suddenly, causing her to stop in her endeavour to neaten the place up.

"Well, no. I just…I know you get bored and really you would rather your experiment so…" she fumbled trying to find a way around this conversation.

"No," he said standing and making his way to the living room where she was fiddling with papers, "you want me out of the way. You don't want me to meet your friends. Why not?"

"Well uhm you can be a bit cruel Sherlock and I…" Molly trailed off looking to the ground. She knew from her own experience of Sherlock's cutting words just how cruel he could be.

"Ah. I see" he said curtly.

Molly looked up to catch an odd look of hurt cross his features before it was replaced by his usual stoic mask.

"You can stay uhm, if you would like to stay you can. I'm sorry I just assumed."

"It's alright Molly. I'll retire upstairs. Goodnight."

Sherlock made his way upstairs quickly. He would be lying if he didn't admit that he was hurt by what Molly had said. He knew of course that he could be cold and cruel towards others but he had never meant to be intentionally cruel to Molly. They had been married for over three months and he thought he had done rather well biting his tongue but if the look on her face was any indication, and it was, then he had done a pretty shoddy job of holding back his remarks.

He toiled with the idea of going back down there but the minute he heard a tinkling of glasses and a shriek of laughter he decided it was better if he stayed away so pulled out the rotting foot and began his experiment.

Molly had been having a ball downstairs. She rarely had friend over for drinks, especially after getting married, but when she did she always promised to do it more often. Her friends were unique, one morgue attendant and three nurses, but they were wonderful people. Her friend Mary had left early as she had a shift in the morning. Alan and Jas went next leaving only Harry who had had a bit too much to drink.

"Really Harry I'm a married woman get your hand off my thigh!" shrieked Molly unnerved by the man's lusty affections.

"Oh come on Molls. He's obviously not satisfying you. You know in the bedroom" the drunkard slurred as he looped an arm around Molly's shoulders.

"That's none of your business!"

"Oh here Molls I'll take care of you."

Molly struggled to shrug Harry off and ended up with his face in her chest, "Get off!"

"Molly you don't love him. He doesn't love you. It's alright because you can have me on the side."

"No, I don't want you on the side." Molly's face grew red as his hand started its way down her waist.

"He'll never love you Molllls. I'll love you."

"Harry no. I love Sherlock even if he doesn't love me and I will not cheat on him. Ever, ok?"

But Harry wasn't taking no for an answer as his hand worked up her skirt. Before he knew it however he was being pulled up from the couch and thrown out of 221b with a force that was highly unnecessary.

"I believe she said no Harry" growled Sherlock as he slammed the door on the man's foot and marched back up to his flat.

Molly jumped up from the couch and righted her skirt desperately trying to calm herself down, "S-Sherlock i-its's not what it looked like. I was just…"

She was stopped by a pair of cupid's bow lips crashing into hers and kissing her fiercely. When he eventually relented and came up for air she looked into his eyes to see them blown black with passion.

"What…" she breathed dizzily.

"Do you mean it?" he asked cupping her face with his hands.

"Mean w-what?"

"You said you loved me. Were you telling the truth?" he demanded.

"Of course I was" she said earnestly.

It was not long before his lips joined with hers again, this time gentle and more passionate. He tried to convey all he wanted to say with his lips and tongue making her moan with pleasure and understanding. It was not the last time that their lips met that night but it was most certainly the last time that Harry was seen anywhere near 221b.

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	5. Sticky Notes

**A/N - Another one! AU high school crush. I don't remember the prompter sorry, but enjoy! And a hearty thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited and alerted - I cherish every single one.**

**Disclaimer - I still don't own it.**

It started with a post-it note. Molly walked into her chemistry class one Tuesday to find a post-it note stuck squarely in the centre of her desk. She looked around the classroom at her fellow students who were all settling into their allocated seat and didn't seem to notice the confusion settle on Molly's features. She sat down slowly and peeled the note off of the desk.

"I noticed your advancement in your experiment with hydrochloric acid. I must say your technique surprised me."

It was the oddest thing Molly had ever read. So odd she read it at least another four times before stuffing it into her trouser pocket and turning her attention towards the teacher. She would think about it later.

XX

Next, she found a heavy tome on pathology stuffed into her bag which was certainly not there this morning. It was leather bound and looked extremely expensive not to mention extremely old. She laid it on her bed carefully and opened the cover. There, stuck inside, was another post-it note with handwriting the same as the first scrawled across it.

"Thought this might help with your future career choice."

How did this person, whoever he/she was, know about her wanting to study pathology? She hadn't even told her own Mother yet.

She placed the note up beside its counterpart on her pin board looking at them intently. They were certainly from the same person, she just had to find out who that person was.

XX

The next note she almost missed. She was sitting under the old oak tree in the park near her home. It was her favourite place to read as it was so peaceful and quiet save for the odd chirp of a bird or the bark of an excited dog.

She had just finished the last chapter of her book and was revelling in the exciting turn the plot had taken near the very end. Some authors were so clever. She stood up quickly stretching her aching back and moved to sling her rucksack over her shoulder when a flash of yellow caught her eye. There right in front of her was a yellow post-it note stuck to the old oak. It hadn't been there when she arrived, had it?

She pulled it off and studied it carefully.

"I didn't think you would like Poe although it does rather suit you. You are full of surprises Molly Hooper."

Molly took a step back and a deep breath. Whoever this was had certainly taken an interest in her above and beyond surface level. She didn't think it was anything harmful although one could never be certain with the nut-jobs roaming about nowadays. However, the notes seemed to just be little appreciations of her. Little things that he/she liked about her. She couldn't help but smile at that thought. Goodness she, little mousy Molly Hooper, had a secret admirer.

Her gaze travelled over to the row of ferns on the far side of the park. In between the nearest rows she could just make out a head of black hair and some sort of shiny black jacket. The man she was staring at stared back until he seemed to notice that she was actually looking at him and darted away between the ferns.

That had to be her admirer.

Molly grabbed her rucksack and gave chase on the mysterious boy. He had the advantage of long legs and obvious stamina but she hadn't won gold at the schools cross country run for nothing. She soon had him in her sights and in a few minutes she would catch him up but a burning stitch in her side threatened to slow her down completely.

"Stop!" she shouted attempting to grasp his arm.

He stopped but did not turn around. His back, clad in black leather, was facing her and she couldn't help but admire how tall and statuesque he was.

Once she had gotten her breath back she started the conversation, or what she hoped would be a conversation, "Did you send me those notes?"

"Yes" the stranger bit out quickly.

"Why?" she asked imploring him to tell her the truth.

"Because I noticed you."

The stranger turned around and looked at her with the most piercing ice blue eyes Molly had ever seen. His eyes seemed to bore straight into her soul and she would be lying if she had said that she wasn't the slightest bit intimidated by their sharpness.

The next thing she noticed was that he was quite beautiful. His well-defined cheekbones and mop of unruly curls gave him a boyish charm that made Molly go weak at the knees.

"You're staring" he said trying hard not to smirk.

"Oh sorry" Molly blushed looking towards the ground.

An awkward silence fell over the two as they stood amongst the ferns and shrubbery. Molly would have laughed at the scene if she weren't one of the ones involved.

"So, uhm, you noticed me?" Moly asked after the silence grew uneasy.

"Yes. You are in some of my classes."

"Really?" Molly asked not having any recollection of seeing him before and surely she would remember seeing a boy like him.

"I tend to keep to myself."

"Oh ok."

"But I noticed you. The way your interest is piqued any time we do an experiment in biology. The way you pour over your textbooks for hours on end. You're obviously an over achiever and want to study pathology with hopes of working at one of the highest institutes in London. You take a special interest in medicine because your father was very ill before he died but no-one understood why. You want to understand why hence medicine. You have a cat with ginger fur. Traces of the fur on your trouser leg give you away. You don't care much for looks but like to look presentable. That's why you always look clean and tidy but don't bother with the layers of make-up like other girls at our school. Which is good as the other girls look absolutely awful. You also prefer to keep to yourself and have one, no two, celebrity crushes." Sherlock sucked in a large lungful of air and looked at the girl who had so recently won her way into his affections expectantly.

"That was…that was…brilliant!" Molly beamed amazed at his talent.

"What?"

"It was fantastic. How'd you do that?"

"I just observe what is around me and draw accurate conclusions."

"Well it's amazing!"

Sherlock blushed at her kind words, "Thank you."

Molly's phone suddenly gave an abrupt ping somewhat spoiling the moment. She checked it and looked back at this strange boy, "It's my mum. I'd better be getting back home."

"Of course, it is almost dinner time. I'll walk you."

"Oh-okay" Molly nodded surprised at his kindness, "But wait I still don't know your name!"

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes" he nodded.

"It's nice to meet you Sherlock. I'm Molly Hooper."

"I know" he smirked throwing Molly a cheeky wink before walking in the direction of her house. He had a feeling that this would be a long and fruitful acquaintance.

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	6. Reunion

**A/N - Here's a kid!lock. Again, no idea of the prompter or the prompt but enjoy! (Thanks as always to all of you who support this story! I can guarantee that you all make me smile with your kind comments)**

**Disclaimer - It sucks but I still don't own it.**

"But Sherly I don't want to be a pirate!" a seven year old Molly pouted throwing her cardboard sword on the ground.

"Why not?" huffed Sherlock. As Molly's elder by two years he got to decide what to play, that was the rules, right?

"I want to play princesses."

"We are not playing princesses."

"Why not! We always play what you want to play but never what I want to play so we should play what I want to play!"

"Do try to be more eloquent in future."

"Stop using big words! You're just showing off!" Molly emphasised her point by jabbing an accusing finger in Sherlock's direction.

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"No you're not" Molly said quickly.

"Yes I am!" shouted Sherlock crossly.

"See you admitted it! So we should play princesses" Molly huffed.

Sherlock groaned, _every time, _he chastised himself, "You're reasoning is unsound therefore we should continue playing pirates."

"Well you can play pirates but I'm not!" Molly crossed her arms and turned sharply beginning to walk in the other direction, pigtails bouncing behind her.

Sherlock looked around and saw the other kids at the playground staring at him. Most of them did not comprehend what had happened and were soon returning to their games but some of them looked at him and shook their head.

Sherlock felt bad. He felt bad for angering Molly, she had never actually stormed off before. She was his only friend and his only shipmate. He did not want to lose his only friend. He would have to find her and apologise but he would not be happy about it. (Sherlock only really apologised to Mummy and even then it was begrudgingly.)

She wasn't that hard to find in the end because he knew exactly where she'd be. The big oak tree at the side of the park was her favourite hiding place when she needed to be invisible. He often found her just sitting counting the leaves as they fell. It was pretty, the way they fell, she said, like they were flying but their destinations already settled. They would always land on the ground.

He settled down beside her at the base of the oak tree and didn't speak for some time. Eventually after a few moments of silence he acquiesced to her silent demand, "I'm sorry Molly."

"That's ok Sherly" she sniffed.

"We should play what you want sometimes but I'm still not playing princesses. Pirates don't play princesses."

"Could I be a princess on your ship then?" she asked looking up at his furrowed brow.

"Of course" he said brightly and jumped up to his feet excited to be playing again.

The little girl launched herself into the older boy's arms, "Thank you Sherly!"

Sherlock was slightly awkward in the embrace and just patted her back softly, "Does this mean we're friends again?"

"Oh, we'll always be friends. Always!" came the girl's sure reply.

**Almost 12 years later.**

Molly was nervous. It was her first day on campus at university and she knew no one – literally no one. She had opted to study in London after she won her scholarship as the course was ideal for the route she wanted to take – she wanted to become a pathologist. Hopefully at one of the biggest and best hospitals in London.

She was currently sitting at a little table in front of the café she intended to frequent flicking through brochures on extra-curricular activities, how to budget, career options and suchlike. She was so immersed in the hand outs that she didn't notice an older man coming to sit opposite her at the vacant seat at the table.

"It's nice to know you don't still wear your hair in those dreadful pigtails."

Molly's head shot up immediately just as her mouth fell open.

"Sh-Sherlock?"

"Yes, hello" he replied curtly.

She never thought she would see him again. After primary school his parents had moved away to France taking the young Sherlock Holmes with them. She never dreamed she would see her best friend again but here he was, right in front of her. He was certainly different. His mop of curls was still there, his eyes were still impossibly blue but he was taller and a bit bulkier and his voice. Oh, it was so much deeper than she remembered. He did look rather handsome and Molly gulped nervously as she could feel her cheeks start to burn.

"You look, well, you're a bit different" Molly stumbled over her words in an attempt to make conversation.

"I should hope so. You're a bit different too" he replied looking her up and down. Oh how she wished she had opted for a cat-less t-shirt this morning.

Molly blushed and fiddled with her papers, "So what do you do here? I mean study of course but uhm, anything else?"

"Not much. In fact I'm hardly ever here. Just came in to see you."

"How d'you know I was studying here?"

Sherlock just gave here one of his patented looks before shifting his gaze across the common.

"Of course. You're a Holmes I shouldn't ask" she giggled remembering some advice he had goven her all those years ago.

"You are staying on campus, correct?" he asked although already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, uhm, right over there or was it that way?" Molly looked around confused as she tried to remember the direction in which she came.

Sherlock rose from the table and walked to her side, "Come on. I'll walk you. You were never known for your excellent sense of direction."

"Oi! I'm not that bad" she argued gathering her bag and brochures before standing to join him.

"Yes you are" he smirked.

"Ok…maybe you're right. Thanks Sherly, for helping me" she said shyly looking up at the now towering man beside her.

"Must you call me that?" he complained with a role of his eyes.

"Always."

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	7. The Little Coffee Shop

**A/N - Have no idea who prompted but I love this little piece. I really do. So warm and fluffy but a little angsty. It's a good little mix. Enjoy! (Thanks to the reviewers, favouriters and everybody else whose reading. I love all of you.) **

**Disclaimer - I don't own it. But one day...*cackles***

She bought a coffee shop after the fall. A small, homely joint just outside of London with antique wooden furniture and a big boarded up fireplace.

She said it was something she had always wanted to do but he knew that was not the real reason she had bought it. He knew she was giving him a place he could go when he needed comfort and safety but most importantly when he needed her. He was thankful that a coffee was always waiting for him. A coffee that was made exactly how he wanted it and refilled when he needed it. A coffee that reminded him of the old times. Of the lab, his experiments and the cases. It was exactly what he needed to keep fighting this battle.

She wasn't there often; she was just the store owner really. A friend of hers managed it for her and the staff were all people whom Mycroft had supplied – he owed her a favour or two after the fall, he supposed. When she was there however they shared a table. The table right at the back of the shop with two big leather tub chairs and a book shelf next to it. It was secluded and quiet and he appreciated it more than she would ever know.

She didn't ask questions, never once thought of her own struggle, but she answered Sherlock's as best she could. Any questions that he had she would gladly answer. Often he enquired about John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade and often her answer was the same.

"They're doing well. They miss their consulting detective though."

She sometimes held his hand if he started shaking. It was the stress, he told her, but really it was the need for a cigarette. He had started smoking again almost as soon as he had started hunting down Moriarty's web. He didn't smoke in front of her though: she would kill him herself if she knew.

There were times when he wanted to grab her and hold her. That was shocking even to himself. His need for physical contact was something that he had always buried, ignored, banished to the depths of his mind palace but now, well now it was becoming something of a nuisance. He craved her presence and her company. Her loving smiles and her gentle hands. He often thought of her and the little coffee shop when he was alone in some foreign land hunting down the latest goon on the web. If he was honest, he thought of her more than he cared to admit and if he ever finished taking down the web he would write all these thoughts down and then give them to her. Tell her everything. Exactly how he feels about her because he's managed to assign a name to the feeling in his chest. The flutter in his belly. The fire running to his very core.

Love. Yes, it was love and it was that love that kept him coming to the coffee shop. Whenever he finished with one thread of the web or he had to wait on Mycroft's aid he would sit in the leather chair at the back of the shop and sip his piping hot coffee listening to her stories about everything and nothing.

He hopes that after the web is put to sleep and he returns to the land of the living, that she keeps the little coffee shop just outside London. But he hopes more than anything that she'll always be there waiting for him because she knows him. She knows what he wants to say but doesn't. She knows what he keeps hidden just below the surface but she doesn't push him. Doesn't press him into a revelation, she just sits and patiently waits for the right time.

As soon as his job is done he'll come for her. He'll tell her what he has to and then she won't have to wait ever again.

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